Time Of Her Life
by J. Tolken
Summary: She’s grown up and leaving behind some of the things she’s grown up with—Harry, Ron, and the safety of home.
1. Prologue

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The excerpt at the beginning is from Green Day's _Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)_, which is available on their _Nimrod _album. I make no claims on it.

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A/N #1: This fic takes place five years after the graduation of the trio from Hogwarts. This makes our Harry, Hermione, and Ron all 23 years old. In the fic, Hermione is born on September 19th, 1980, not September 19th, 1979. Just wanted to clear that up.

_She's leaving behind some of the things she's grown up with—Harry, Ron, and the safety of home. This provides the setting for a Hermione-centric fic._

Time Of Her Life

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Prologue

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Another turning point  
A fork stuck in the road  
Time grabs you by the wrist  
Directs you where to go  
So make the best of this test  
And don't ask why  
It's not a question  
But a lesson learned in time  
It's something unpredictable  
But in the end is right  
I hope you had the time of your life  


So take the photographs  
And still frames in your mind  
Hang it on a shelf of  
Good health and good time  
Tattoos of memories  
And dead skin on trial  
For what it's worth  
It was worth all the while  
It's something unpredictable  
But in the end is right  
I hope you had the time of your life

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Journal of Hermione Granger

Thursday, July 31st, 2003

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It all depends on where you want to go in life, I suppose. There are people who will curse you, trip you, and generally try to make you fall flat on your face. You never know when these people will strike. They could be your best friends, your most trusted allies... they could strike you at the most fatal moment. Turn their back on you.

How do I know, Journal? Well, ever since I left Hogwarts, it's been so incredibly hard to forget all the shit that's happened with Ron and Harry. The Burrow turned into a hideout for the Death Eaters and Ron was left out on the streets for so long... I wanted to shelter him, protect him like I've always done, but something happened. I didn't. I left him alone, and Harry ended up taking him in. 

What happened to me after that? I don't know. It doesn't seem like a very life-changing trauma, does it? But it made me open my eyes. All my life I've been stuck with Harry and Ron... from the first moment I stepped afoot on the Hogwarts Express, I've been part of them. They've been a part of me. But during all that, I've been missing out on a lot of things. I've missed out on love. I've missed out on discovering myself.... Why do they always expect me to prod them about studying for tests and such?

Well, Journal, I'm out on the "real" life now. It's not as awful as Percy made it seem.... But there's still this unfillable void in my heart that makes me feel as if I'm missing out on something. Something major, something that I've forgotten to do all these years.... It's like I'm trying to remember something important from a long ago that I've forgotten. It's been bothering me for so long.

And oh... today's Harry's birthday. Ironic that I'm having all these thoughts now. I've sent him another Broomstick Service Kit. Today is his 23rd birthday... I got him his first one when he was 13. Seems fitting, doesn't it?

Well... then, I'm off to say goodbye to Ron before I leave for London. I hope Ron doesn't cry. What am I talking about...? Ron never cries.

*

"So you're going to work as a Spellmaker. For the Ministry of Magic," Ron said lamely. He held one of Hermione's heavier bags in one hand, and wore a very awkward expression on his face. 

"It's not good-bye forever, Ron," Hermione said, refusing to look at him. "I'm only going away to London... you can come and visit me anytime you want. Tell Harry he can do it, too," she added.

Ron awkwardly managed to ease his face into a grin. 

Hermione's last words hung in the air for a long time as they craned their necks to look down the street for the cab that she had ordered half an hour ago. Nothing was said; Ron had gazed at Hermione meaningfully for a few minutes, but she was so intent on not looking at Ron that she did not notice. It was a silly game.

"You can't leave like this," Ron murmured under his breath softly. "You can't say your good-byes, 'Mione... not now... not here..."

"Did you say something, Ron?"

"No, nothing."

"It's not good-bye forever, Ron. Don't look so glum," said Hermione harshly. "Like I've already told you, you and Harry can come and visit me anytime. Just don't bring too many people," she added lightly, smiling to herself. 

"It's not good-bye forever, I know, but it feels like it."

"Harry, you, and I have been together for—" she paused. "Twelve years. That's a long time, Ron. We got out of Hogwarts five years ago, and yet, we've done nothing independently. Nothing. This is just something I want for myself. Can't you understand?"

"We've had no _time _to do things independently. Harry's always so uncomfortable that Voldemort's still not gone, and it's our _job _as best friends to help him out... " He paused, and took a good, long, hard look at Hermione, and realized that she was not who she was five years ago, or even two years ago. He realized that he had known that for a while, and yet she had never changed completely in his mind... to him, she would always be that bossy little bushy-haired eleven-year-old girl. "Besides," he gulped, "it's our _moral _duty to help out the Order whenever we can. Isn't it? Hermione?"

Hermione turned around reluctantly, brushing mahogany curls out of her eyes to stare at Ron. She opened her mouth to say something along the lines of "Did I just hear Ron Weasley say _'moral'_?", but she knew it wouldn't be the right time for humor. Ron's whole point didn't deserve to be ignored. He had been overlooked his whole life and.... Hermione couldn't bear to just turn around and ignore him, being one of the few people who had gotten so close to him.

"I'm sorry," was all she offered, her voice quivering. "Why is this such a big deal? I'm only going to London..."

"That's farther than we've ever been apart. Harry's gone to the States in a month and...." Ron looked away, and swallowed. "And Dumbledore's dying. Sirius is injured... Remus is unconscious, and there's so much Dark activity going on. Are you sure you're going to be safe?"

"Of course. You know I'm going to be."

Long pause.

"That's not all that's bothering you, Ron, is it?"

"We're falling apart. The Dream Team has ...broken."

__

Damn you, Ron. Damn you for making me feel so guilty about trying to change my life.

Hermione rose her eyebrows at the thought of Harry, Ron, and her being so boastfully named "The Dream Team", and wondered why Ron had decided to use something that Snape had called them. She turned around again. "People change, Ron. Things change. Things fall apart. People change."

*

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A/N #2: To be continued in Chapter 1, **_Wish You Were Here_**. 


	2. Wish You Were Here

Hermione's tries to start again, far from Harry and Ron. She begins to settle into her life and meets someone—someone that could be her guide to the new life. If only he weren't from her past one. This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. ****

A/N: Please keep in mind as you read that this is happening after canon, meaning that the world JK Rowling has so wonderfully described for us in the books is not the same. The people have changed, as well, and have **grown up**.

This fic is loosely inspired by AngieJ/Ebony's _Trouble in Paradise _and _Paradise Lost_. Many thanks go to her. ☺

Time of Her Life

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Chapter 1 - Wish You Were Here

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Friday, August 1st, 2003

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11:33 PM 

London

The first thing that Hermione thought when she stepped out of the train was clarity. How clean and sharp the air was and how fresh it seemed to smell. She took deep breaths, as if she were attempting to cleanse herself of Harry and Ron. They had _almost_ haunted—she couldn't rightly use the word—her all during the train ride. The expression she saw last on Ron's face was heartbreaking, though she kept telling herself that Ron couldn't possibly be saddened that she had left—after all, she had always been more of a tag-along to slow down the mission rather than really being part of it. _The real team had been Harry and Ron_, she reassured herself. _Ron only said what he said because he doesn't want to be... lonely. _

Who does? 

She smiled to herself, and tugged her jacket closer. Half-expecting someone to be waiting for her at the station, she had aimlessly gone through the crowd at the train station expectantly, when she was only reminded that there was nobody to go to the Ministry of Magic building with—she was by herself.

Another cab ride took her directly from the station to the building. During the ride, she wondered briefly why she wasn't able to just Apparate to the building, or at least around it. Her questions were answered when she saw that Muggles surrounded the building, even though they were unable to see it.

She exited quietly into a small, dark and wet alley. Using her wand, she tapped at a brick on the wall, and a bright light flashed, and suddenly, the alley transformed into the main Spellmaking/Spellworking Headquarters of the British Ministry of Magic. 

She blinked, dazed.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said to the wizard behind an official-looking counter, flashing an ID card that had been issued to her. "I'm the new Spellmaker." 

For a moment, Hermione had expected the wizard to ask, "Harry Potter and Ron Weasley's best friend, right?" but he merely peered at the card and ran his quill down a piece of parchment. 

"Granger? As in G-R-A-N-G-E-R?" Hermione nodded uneasily. The wizard had been running the quill down the parchment for a long while now—too long for her to remain properly relaxed.

"Your name is not on here, Ms," the wizard frowned, "yet your ID seems to be legitimate. My list is updated magically every five minutes. Perhaps you could wait a while and see if it shows up?"

"Of course." Feeling disappointed, she carried her luggage to a small waiting area and sat down. 

*

Carm blended in perfectly with the Ministry of Magic crowd. 

He was wearing plain, simple, navy blue robes that were a bit too tardy for much of his liking, but the thing was—he blended in, and that was all that mattered. Nobody gave a thought to him as he passed by the office daily, and nobody paid much attention to him either, which was exactly what he wanted. Hardly anybody knew, let alone cared, what the blond, quiet, and polite worker in Spellmaking was doing. 

He moved swiftly and silently in the office, acting somewhat like a well-trained hunter in the woods. The mess of blonde hair, which had been reluctantly trimmed a week ago, concealed his gray eyes. People who had just met him would've thought that he was somewhat of a lonely person—the introverted eyes spun a tale of their own.

He smirked to himself when he caught a glimpse of an anxiously waiting, a mahogany-curled woman sitting in the waiting area. The wizard behind the counter was whistling cheerily, and the woman began frowning.

"Five minutes has passed," she said briskly. "Has my name shown up on the list yet? I do believe this system is quite inefficient, if you don't mind me saying so."

"No, no, no, ma'am. We've been trying to complain to the head of the Department of Spellmaking—Percy Weasley, the new chap, but he's been far too busy with all the prevention of Dark spells that he's hardly been able to sleep. Poor chap, really. Came at the worst time possible." 

The woman frowned slightly; whether at the mention of Dark spells or Percy Weasley, Carm did not care. "So I heard."

"H-E-R-M-I-O-N-Y G-R-A-N-G-E-R? Oh dear, it seems that we've misspelled your name. Goodness – oh look, here comes your colleague now, Carm. What have you been up to, Carm ol' bud? Haven't seen you around." 

__

Nobody ever does. "Fine. Is this the new addition?" _Hermione, this is the last place I would've expected to see you_. 

The woman turned around to examine Carm; it seemed that she had passed him for "average" when she stood up to shake hands with him. "Hermione Granger," she said slowly. 

"Carm," he said, "Carm Lofayod. You do seem awfully familiar." 

"I'm quite sure we've never met before," she said softly, barely a whisper. 

They stood staring at each other for a while, until the wizard behind the counter coughed awkwardly. "Perhaps it would be best for Mr. Lofayod to tour you through the Ministry building, show you your office, and perhaps give you a good guide of what your job is? Hmm?" 

"Of course." Carm grinned, nearly about to collapse in laughter at the confused and awed expression on Hermione's face. _So this is what it's like to befriend the famous Hermione Granger under more... friendly circumstances_. "You can leave your luggage there. I expect I'll show you your personal quarters later in the afternoon." 

* 

Hermione was at ease with Carm. There was an indescribable aura around him, a quality that made him easy to approach and talk to. He seemed a bit lonely as his eyes told her, and she couldn't shake off the feeling that she had met him before, somewhere. It was like that feeling of inadequacy she had written about in her journal—she knew it was there, yet that was all she knew. 

At first glance to those who could, the Ministry building was not large. Hermione had not expected as many nooks and crannies as Carm had showed her, but she was hardly surprised.

Her office was a beautifully decorated and spacious room that had a large, full-length window that also extended out into a small balcony. The view of the Muggle London was breathtaking – at times, Carm warned. ("Sometimes, you get the occasional pigeon er –popping in periodically at the balcony. It's not a problem if you cast the right charms.")

Hermione got the impression that Spellmakers were under a lot of pressure when a whole floor was filled with relaxation magitherapies, a bit of light magic aromatherapy, and even a spa. "When spells go astray," Carm had explained grimly, "Spellmakers get out of hand. Which is sort of the whole purpose of this floor."

Finally, Hermione was lead to a door that looked very important and special. Carm knocked on it quietly, as if he were afraid to disturb whoever was inside there. Hermione had a good feeling about which it was—the boss. She sincerely hoped that since Percy had gotten a promotion and therefore was not in the Spellworking/Spellmaking Department anymore, they had found a good replacement.

A shrill, feminine voice answered—a voice that Hermione knew from... somewhere. It was the second time today that she knew she knew something but couldn't quite remember from where. The door was pushed open, revealing an irritated woman who sat behind a large, oak desk wearing very expensive robes and a pair of awful, neon green glasses.

Hermione didn't need to be introduced, but Carm didn't catch on. "This is Ms Rita Skeeter," he introduced calmly, with a hidden smirk. "She's the boss." 

"I know," Hermione managed, nearly choking. It was the last place she had expected the ex-reporter to go after she had released her, after a letter of apology written to the _Daily Prophet_. She could not properly imagine Rita Skeeter in charge of managing and inventing new spells for the whole Wizarding Community, yet there she was, wearing a conniving smirk behind the desk, a fuzzy green peacock feather quill in her hand.

"Hermione Granger, I believe?" Rita Skeeter's expression turned sour and she dropped her quill on the desk. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, Ms Granger, we meet yet again."

Though Carm was perfectly aware of what was going on and the situation behind Rita Skeeter and Hermione, he managed to keep a straight face and ask, "You two are acquainted?"

"Oh, more than acquainted," murmured Rita, getting up to inspect Hermione more closely. "You have grown much, Ms Granger," she said, sounding like a very displeased and slutty aunt that hadn't seen her niece in a long time. "Your curls have certainly reached past the frizzy stage," she added, frowning. "More curlier and hideous than ever, I might add."

"For the sake of professionalism," growled Hermione, "I don't think we should talk more than necessary. You're already aware of what might happen." She smirked at the thought of Rita the Beetle. 

"My, if you are going to bring that up again, you might start packing now. You're forgetting that _you _work for _me_ now." She curled her lip and raised her head in a snobbish manner. "You're going to have start learning some manners, as well, Ms Granger. Carm, please leave now. I have a lot of work to do...oh dear, I hope she isn't too much trouble."

"Not at all," Carm said, whisking Hermione out of the office. He cleared his throat and commented, "Well, that was rather unpleasant."

"Don't mention it again," warned Hermione with a rather nasty tone. "Percy shouldn't have given up his job."  
"He got a promotion—he's in the running for Minister of Magic, did you know?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly. "I don't understand why he want to become Minister _now_. This is perhaps the worst crisis the Wizarding World has seen in such a long time.... But I think he's the most competent person for the job, anyway. Who's up against him?"

"Alicia Spinnet and Jason Birmingham just cast their vote in today."

"Alicia Spinnet?" Hermione perked up. She hadn't been that much aware of politics—not since she had just graduated from the Sirens. Her political conscience was beginning to get aroused again. She was beginning to be reminded of her previous days at Hogwarts.

The most interesting room in the building was perhaps the "Dark Room." Photographs and newspaper clippings were enclosed in glass cases, and most of them weren't too photographic. A gruesome picture of a wizard who had his head and legs turned on backwards and a vulture permanently residing on his head started winking sappily at Hermione, and when Carm noticed it, he had said, "That's Gilderoy Lockhart. Pretty bloody. There's still trying to find out the counter-curse for that one." 

"Accidents, most of them," he went on to say. "Quite serious, all of them, actually. You know, when you're experimenting with new spells, the chance that you could kill or seriously injure someone doesn't come up." He grinned at a photo of a pet Kneazle that had no eyes. "Rita did that one." 

The oldest room was the attic, or central library. The dust had settled there for years and it seemed as if nobody had the intent of cleaning it up. Thousands of bookshelves were lined up in neat, orderly columns. 

Hermione looked at the hundreds of shelves with a faraway and saddened look in her eyes. "Nice library. I heard this was one of the largest and oldest book collections in Britain...." 

"Oh yes. The Ministry is intent on keeping in good condition... minus the dust, of course. Can't do anything about that." Carm took out a handkerchief and covered his mouth. "Argh. My allergies are perking up. Let's get out of here. You've got to start work, now, Ms Granger." 

* 

Hermione sat in the office, as if she were waiting for some sort of instructions now. _You know what you're supposed to be working on._ _Do it!_ Yet she had been procrastinating for nearly twenty minutes. _Procrastination, dear Hermione? What's wrong with you?_

__

That was the old Hermione, she told herself briskly. _Look, it's your first _hour_ of work. Nobody really expects anything from you. So just relax. Making new spells comes easy for you. You don't have to keep stressing all over it._

Ah, but how do you know?

I hate it when you do that.

She had already packed a few personal items into her office: a muggle picture of her family, several photos of Hogwarts, but only one photo of Harry and Ron. They were sitting on a cabinet, casually arranged in a half-circle. It seemed to be no surprise that when she whirled around, the many pictures of Hogwarts and family blocked Harry and Ron. 

She had been sitting in her office idly for about half-an-hour when Carm burst in again. "Sorry to bother you, Ms," he said. "You can go for lunch now. Just thought that I'd tell you." 

"You can call me Hermione, Carm. I'm not very hungry... I had a very ... filling breakfast. So ... I guess I'll be staying in." 

Carm nodded and exited, leaving Hermione staring outside her window again. 

"What am I doing here..." she murmured to herself, getting up from her chair. "I'm supposed to be a Spellmaker. It's very prestigious." 

__

You're.... You're...stretching your limits. All your life you've been told what you could do and what you couldn't... you've been confined with all these borders, all these things that Hermione Granger mustn't do. You're... stretching them. You're trying to find out your extremes. 

"I'm talking to the voices in my head." 

__

You're psychologically analyzing yourself. 

"I'm stretching my extremes..." she nodded, deciding she had liked the sound of it. 

__

I'm not running away because things got too tough. I'm not reinventing myself, either, thank-you-very-much. I'm only trying to find out with my extremes are. Is that enough for you?

At least that makes sense, psychologically, that is.

* 

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Saturday, August 2nd, 2003

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10:03 am

Spellmakers Personal Quarters, #3619

Hermione awoke to find herself in a dazzling green room and a simple four-poster bed. She turned around and wondered briefly if she were trapped in a dream; or worse, kidnapped. Then, she caught a flash of her graduation photo, she relaxed and everything came back to her again. It was only her new home, even though she didn't know if she had a right to call it home; she felt like a stranger in it, and the emerald green constantly reminded her of Harry's innocent yet haunted eyes. 

"It's Saturday," she murmured sleepily to herself, pushing away the covers and slipping out of the bed. The curtains had already been drawn, and perhaps she had done it— a great deal of time was spent last night writing in her journal and trying to decide how to make her new flat/personal quarters/home more home-like. 

__

Get rid of the green. Get rid of the green and replace it with something else that doesn't constantly mesmerize you every time you look at it... get rid of the green. Now. 

But it looks nice. 

She changed into worn robes and entered the small kitchen. Wand in hand, she made herself some tea and fried eggs. Humming busily to herself, she wandered out of the kitchen and ate her small breakfast in silence. She had begun humming aimlessly to herself yet again when an incessant and hurried knock arose from the door. She stood up to answer, curious as to who would've cared or known at all where her flat was. _Don't be Ron. Please don't be Ron. _

* 

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10:34 AM

Outside Spellmakers Personal Quarters, #3009

Sirius Black was tapping anxiously on the wooden door, his knuckles getting severely sore. A few sounds of movement were heard inside, but he continued knocking. From the moment he had heard the news from Ron who spoke a hardened tone and certain numbness, he knew it was going to cause trouble. And tons of it—even upon Dumbledore's dying, things were about to get worse. 

"Hermione!" he started yelling. "Hermione, open up!" The door swung open wildly, and Hermione gazed at Sirius curiously, as if she had no idea what the stranger's business was. 

"Sirius, what the hell do you think you're doing here?" 

Sirius's mouth hung open— since when had Hermione gotten so... _feisty? _Towards him, namely. He was then reminded of Ron's sullen voice, telling him how much Hermione had changed. "Let me in and I'll fill you in," he managed to say.

Hermione, reluctantly, allowed him in and shut the door suspiciously. 

Sirius sat down on a soft armchair, and followed his stern gaze to Hermione, who winced and took a seat. "What the bloody hell are _you _doing here?" demanded Sirius, pointing to the flat. "Hermione, do you know how crucial you are to the Order right now? You can't just... leave like this. And most of all to London! No, Hermione, you've made a mistake." 

"I have not. I'm not a child anymore, Sirius. You can't tell me what to do with my life." Colour rushed to her cheeks as she raged on. "All my life I've been told there are restrictions. Boundaries that I can't penetrate... too bad, Sirius. This is something I want for myself. And it's only to bloody London... I'm still a part of the Order, you know." 

"But are you?" Sirius paused. "Hermione, I don't mean to be intrusive, but for the good of the Order, you can't stay here. Spellmakers are mainly the first target of Dark Art specialists... your job is going to get you killed! You can come back if you want, when this is all over.... But please—not now, Hermione. Not now." There was desperation and even pleading in his voice, but his eyes remained stern.

"Well too bad, Sirius," Hermione told him coldly. "Too bad. If I had known that the Order would involve dedicating my whole entire adult life to it, maybe I should have never pledged at all." 

"Here's where _I _say too bad. You did know. Did you read that contract you signed? Do you really need to me to hire a bloody lawyer to read it for you? You signed it. Your whole entire adult life may just as well now be property of the Order," he spat. "Like it or not." 

"It's a magical contract, then? I can break it, can't I? Now that it's taking away so much of my freedom, maybe I should just..."

Sirius looked aghast, seriously pondering if Hermione was intending to do what she had just mentioned. His heartbeat quickened at the thought of the Order without one of its most crucial members. "Quit?" 

Hermione looked away, her conscience overwhelmed by guilt. "I'm sorry. I'm going to have to be part-time member or something... wait, why can't I just Apparate to the meetings?" 

"There are no more meetings, Hermione. It's become a ... full-time thing, if you will. That's what it was always meant to be." 

"I can't handle that sort of thing, Sirius," Hermione said softly, feeling like a child again. "I couldn't even handle a casual relationship with _Ron _when I had to see him all day... what makes you think I can handle something like this?" 

"Commitment problems?" Sirius looked genuinely concerned, and the fatherly tone had gone back to his voice, making it lose the angry edge. "Never mind, Hermione. I won't be more intrusive than anymore I'm doing now." 

"Then get out," snapped Hermione, the angry edge back in her voice again as she pointed to the door. 

"Do you know how much the Order needs you right now, though? Hermione, do you?" 

"I don't know... maybe I just don't bloody care anymore." Her tone softened and she cast her gaze upon her bed, feeling the quizzical look Sirius was giving her. "This is going nowhere." 

Sirius looked around and stood up, examining the flat. "Maybe I can't convince you to go back to the Burrow, but can't I convince you at least to give up this job? Do it for another Ministry, even." Hermione stood up as well, and swung open the door. 

"You can't tell me what to do. Get out, Sirius. I'm not a child anymore. I will call the Security Hit Wizards for this building if I have to." 

"Fine." Surprisingly, Sirius got up and exited swiftly, without a backward glance. A heavy cloud of regret hung over Hermione's heart, and it only cleared up when she saw that Carm had wandered by the flat, and seemed puzzled by the fashion in which Sirius had left. 

"Who was that?" he asked. 

"Nobody," Hermione answered quickly. "What are you doing here?" 

"This." Carm pulled a Daily Prophet out of his bag and shoved it in Hermione's face. Hermione winced as she read the headline, "The British Wizarding Community Braces For Political Turbulence." A black and white photograph of harassed—looking Cornelius Fudge accompanied the article, as well as another small photograph of a recent Dark activity centre.

"What's happened?" she inquired quickly, taking the newspaper out of his hands and inviting him inside. Her eyes widened as she read the first paragraph.

"_In the recent Dark times, it is hard to see how things could get worse, but evidently, it's happened. At a recent muggle news conference, the British Prime Minister is as quoted as saying, "The recent tragedies that have befallen upon us seemed to have no source until today. Ladies and gentleman, we have wizards and witches upon us." The British Prime Minister went on to say that all the tragedies of Britain, in the recent years, have to be blamed on us, namely..." _

"What kind of shit is this?" she spat, pointing to the first paragraph. "Carm, what's going on, exactly?" 

"Muggles are panicking, namely. Ever since they found out about witches and wizards, they've been in a huge frenzy. Scared out of their wits, they were. The wizarding community issued out a warning to all muggle-borns—this is why I thought you should know—that you could be the target of muggle attacks—if they know of your ... witchcraft."

"How do you know I'm muggle-born?" she asked suspiciously. 

"I'm your colleague. They gave me your file before you came." He rolled his eyes mildly, and waved a gesture. "I'm a bit thirsty. Some tea would be good." 

"Sure." Hermione got up to the kitchen, busying herself with tea as Carm took a good, long, hard look at the flat. It was a but bare, he noticed, but he simply concluded that Hermione was not the decorating type. She came out of the kitchen with a platter in her hands, a pot of tea in the middle and two cups at the side. "So... what do you do in your spare time?" Hermione was never very good at entertaining though her mother had done it all the time. She was beginning to wish that she had taken pointers from her mother, as Carm didn't look very interested. 

"Not a lot. You know, we're only in our twenties but don't you feel like you're going to be stuck doing this all your days?" He looked a bit resentful, and a veil of sadness hung down on his eyes. 

"Don't you have a girlfriend?" Hermione asked curiously. Carm wasn't bad looking; messy blond hair which Hermione guessed always had someone's fingers running through it at least once a day, a medium build, and very gentle and lonely eyes. 

Carm paused before answering, as if he were trying to decide whether Hermione was trustworthy. "Not at the moment, no," he said carefully. "There's just been a lot of pressure coming from everywhere and I don't think I can handle a relationship." 

"Mm-hmm." 

The two had tea for about fifteen minutes, until Hermione looked to Carm and asked, "We've been living in this kind of peril and turmoil for too long. Don't you think it's time that Cornelius Fudge stepped down?" 

"Definitely. A pity that Albus Dumbledore's dying... he would've made a damn good Minister. Don't know what we're going to do without the man... so much Dark stuff everywhere." 

Carm sounded as if he was about to break down and cry, but his expression was very much contained. He set down his cup, and said, "Thanks, Hermione. I just brought over the paper because I thought... you should know about this. Um, I should get going." 

"Bye. See you on ...Monday, I guess. It's alright, you don't have to keep sending these things over—my subscription is continued tomorrow," she added wryly. She opened the door politely for Carm to exit, and Carm had already left when a shiver ran through the floor. "Did you feel that?" she whispered. 

Carm nodded numbly, and turned around. "They've been going on for quite some time now... quite scary, but you'll get used to—" Carm's words were cut off, as the floor seemed to vanish. 

It was as if time simply paused—everything came to an instant stop, and for a moment, she thought her heart had stopped beating. A bright, white light had flooded her eyes and she couldn't bear to look at anything. Shutting her eyes, she swallowed uncomfortably.

She was instantly reminded of a muggle rollercoaster she had taken during the summer of her First Year at Hogwarts. The company that had sponsored the Park had an ill reputation in the small town, but her mother, being the opportunist she was, insisted on taking Hermione. Her father, stern and disapproving had stayed home.

Her mother's trademark wild sparkle had instantly sparked in her eyes as soon as she set sight on the rollercoaster. The Grangers were never very adventurous, and seldom allowed Hermione to venture on risky things—but that was mainly due to that William Granger was too old-fashioned to let Amanda Granger influence Hermione with her "foolish teachings." The rollercoaster, in some ways, was Amanda's revenge. 

Perhaps it was fate's way of mocking Amanda Granger when the rollercoaster, with her and her daughter on it, had suddenly stopped in the middle of a huge climb. Hermione, who had experienced a bit of flying at Hogwarts, still was not used to the high altitudes. Her body was completely frozen, just as she was now, but willingly—her mother had reassured her constantly that help would arrive soon, but she realized sadly now that there was nobody to do that.

__

Hermione, calm down. Whatever's happening is going to stop soon... just close your eyes, and remember to breathe. Close your eyes, and breathe. Move your body around, even, if you can manage it. The main thing is just to close your eyes and remember to **breathe**.

Her body was rigid, and she feared that she had forgotten how to breathe in the midst of the light for a moment until there was a slight spin and she found herself sprawled upon the armchair of her flat. "What the hell happened?" she wheezed, getting back upon her feet and clutching her heart in disarray.

Carm's soft voice sailed to her somewhere from the kitchen; the instant she had heard it, she ran there but the source of the voice was not immediately obvious. "Carm?" she asked, her voice quivering slightly. "Where... where are you?"

There was the soft sound of brushing off and coughing, then Carm limped his way to the kitchen from the bedroom with a heavy frown on his face. "Sit down, I'll explain what the hell just went on here."

Hermione collapsed into the armchair and waited for Carm.

"That was another Warp."

"Warp...?"

"Warp," he repeated. "As in.... Hermione, I'm not sure if the others know a lot about it, since the Ministry is trying to pretend that these things never happen. Not a lot of people would learn about Warps, but I specialized in it in Finishing School. These things just don't happen... there's usually a person or a magical force behind it."

Hermione looked confused. "This is a Ministry building. Who would care enough what was going on inside to do this?"

"A lot of people," he growled. Perhaps Hermione was still in shock, but she thought she saw Carm smile. "This building was built by magic... a Warp is a Dark Arts technique for explosives, basically. The foundation shakes a lot, but there _are _charms on this building—the Ministry isn't _completely _moronic. That's why we were stuck in midair."

Hermione's stomach felt a bit queasy at the mention of it, but she forced it out of her mind. _Who would've thought—Ron was right?_ "Carm, you know... maybe you should go back now. There's a bit of stuff I want to do and errands I have to run."

Carm nodded with a light of suspicion in his eye. "Of course. I still have to finish that report." He needed no assistance in exiting. Hermione buried her face in her hands.

_Dear god. Ron. Is. Right. It. Is. Dangerous._

Why wouldn't he be?

Well... this would _be one of the rare times. It's not completely illogical to discredit him for all those wild explanations and excuses, you know._

Listen, if I am _you, how can I _not _know?_

Good point.

*

__

12:34 PM

Spellmakers Personal Quarters, #1180

Carm rustled through his papers furiously, a quill in hand and a wand in the other. "Dammit," he swore under his breath. "The last one must've taken it with him..." A light sparkled in his eye, and he instantly ducked under his desk and grabbed out a small, round object.

Its resemblance to a crystal orb was not discredited by its actual usage. Carm placed both his hands on the orb, and a misty violet light began to swirl and rumble in the orb, and he could feel the vibrations of energy that massaged his hands.

A flash of bright light sparked into life in the orb, and a projection of a redhead wizard who looked exhausted appeared. A journalist's head peeked into the room, and the wizard seemed to be casting a spell that had sealed the door shut. He sprawled onto the bed and began snoring.

"If it isn't Percy Weasley, the Minister of Magic," Carm muttered under his breath. "Why is Hermione so intent on not speaking of you or your family? Why did you have to take _it_ with you?" A wicked smile lighted up his features. "Well, I'll get my answers soon."

*

What does Carm mean? Is Hermione too swift to dismiss all Ron's thoughts? Will Ron ever be right again? Will Percy be able to handle his new job? Will the Weasleys be able to cope with Percy coping with his new job? Will the Weasleys be able to cope with ... everything? How are Harry and Ron dealing with this?

*Phew*

*Dramatic music plays*

To be continued in _Ribbons_...

Surprises abound for Hermione shippers.

Read carefully... people may not be who they claim to be. ☺ Any questions regarding Spellmakers and such will be explained in Chapter 2.

The Palantír, from J.R.R. Tolkien's _The Two Towers _(the second volume in _The Lord of the Rings_), gave me the idea of the orb. Its whole point hasn't been revealed yet, so don't be quick to assume. 


End file.
